


afterhours.

by insomnomnomia



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 16:54:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20998175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomnomnomia/pseuds/insomnomnomia
Summary: GIVE HIM WHAT HE’S OWED





	afterhours.

The cotton was damp against your tongue; his weird, spindly fingers stretching the inner corners of your warm, wet mouth. You swallow against his gloves. The pale yellow of the fluorescent lighting casts a warm glow on the set of your rapidly approaching demise. 

**“He’s going to rid himself of me. The studio as a whole.” **

“What — what makes you think that?” You gasp, tongue heavy in your mouth, lips wet with spit. He’s toying with you. If not just physically, psychologically. He craves your pity. At least, that’s what you assume his intentions are as you sit there in your chair, knuckles white from the grip you hold on the desk in front of you. You fold one foot over the other. 

**“He told me.” **

_ Did he? _

You wince, your backside brushing roughly up against the splintered wood of your chair. Bendy pauses, his gaze now directed below. Not below at you, specifically, but more so at the seat of your chair, where your ass curved upwards into your thighs. And before you knew it, his hands were slipping from your mouth and down to grip the wood in each finger as he tilted you backwards. You can hear your heartbeat hammer in either ear when his eyes meet yours. His grin is wide and selfish. He wants you to test him. He’s claimed you as his own. At least, from his perspective. If he is little more, in your mind, than a pool of ink converged, perverted to, well, _ this_, then he feels it is more than valid when he lets you know just how putrid and rancid the studio is in his eyes. 

He was never very fond of this system and order you worked under. And, in your opinion, he had every right to feel the way he felt. But, his actions were never justified. It was simple. 

“What are you going to do with him?” You whisper. Your skirt is slipping below, bunching up around your hips as Bendy holds you at this awkward angle. Or rather, the chair. 

He doesn’t respond.

“What are you going to do with me?”

**“If you don’t mind…”**

You doubt he seriously gives two shits about how you feel but you decide to hear him out. He lets the chair drop, along with your skirt. Your hair pools around your face, tangled and unkempt. It’s getting caught in between the chair and the floor and you suck in air through your teeth from the pain. He’s playing with your toes now. 

_ Gross… _

He’s fascinated by human anatomy and for a second you feel you should recommend him to see into classes in anthropology before you’re regretting the thought entirely. Imagine what this creature could do if he knew. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just as intrigued at the sight of him. He was...well, impossible. Rumors often cycled through the studio, not all good. You watch as he runs his hands up and down your legs, picking at your fat here and there. He really is toying with you. Because you can never tell what’s going through his mind, and even if he did try to explain, could you really believe him? Did he even _ feel_? 

_ He’s not Bendy. This isn’t Bendy. You need to get out. _

_ Get out._


End file.
